


Haven

by tiptoe39



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy For Now Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Panic Attacks, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: Alexei has this habit of falling into people. And the minute he saw Kent in the corner of that room, he’d been lost.





	Haven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganoconner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/gifts).



> Bittybaking did a most fabulous beta on this, and really helped steer me toward the ending I wanted to write. I can’t thank you enough, hon.
> 
> TW: Panic attack.

"Next time? Throw him across ice."

That's what Alexei said, and he meant it. He fully expected the next time he saw Kent Parson to be on the ice, in the heat of a game, and he fully expected there to be something to get mad about. Sooner or later, through a dirty play or a fight or something, Alexei would have his chance, and he'd lower the boom on Kent Parson the way he really deserved.  He expected it to be epic.

He didn't expect this.

Alexei is in the labyrinth of corridors beneath the Vegas rink, in the hours before game time, and he's gotten himself lost. Everything's gleaming and indistinguishable, one hallway the same as the next, and there are no signs to point his way. What's more, aside from the hum of the air conditioner, it's utterly silent. This might be purgatory, this weird sterile nowhere, and Alexei's stuck in the middle of it. How did he get here? Where does he go?

Then, all at once, something clatters in a room nearby, and Alexei jumps so high he very nearly scrapes his head on the ceiling.

He creeps to the door--it's ajar--and peers through the opening.

There's something in the corner of the room. Something that's just knocked over a metal folding chair, which is still rocking slightly on the floor.  Alexei pushes the door open and steps through the doorway. The thing in the corner doesn't respond. It just remains curled against the wall, shaking.

It's not a thing. It's a person. A man. Arms folded over bended knees, head bent forward and out of sight. He's trembling.  Trembling, infinite minute little shakes wracking his body. They're movements more befitting of an animal, a terrified animal that's been left alone and vulnerable. Everything in Alexei aches all at once. He's never been able to handle this--to see something hurt and not hurt himself--and if he doesn't do something, say something, the feeling will encompass him. He has to make it better somehow.

"You okay?" he calls. His voice is throaty, and it hurts coming out.

The figure stills. Lifts his head. His face--pert nose, small tight mouth--is a face Alexei recognizes.

"You're Kent Parson," Alexei says.

Kent turns his head, catches sight of him. His answer is "Duh."

His whole body is rigid, wary. His shoulders hunch. His hands are stretched tight over his elbows, arms in a protective circle.  As he peers warily at Alexei, something glimmers at the corner of one eye.

"You're crying," says Alexei.

"Duh again." Kent buries his head in his arms. "Dumbass."

Alexei is still overwhelmed by the urge to do something, help somehow.  Knowing that it's Parson doesn't change that. He comes forward, drops to his knees in front of Kent. "You're not okay," he says, hearing the surprise in his own voice. He _is_ surprised, he realizes, not just that it's Kent Parson, but that Kent Parson has this side to him. That Parson would ever be alone in a room, shaking, tears on his cheeks. That he's capable of feeling something that would bring him here.

Kent sighs and mumbles through the cradle of his arms. "Did you just come here to state the obvious, or--"

"No." Alexei shakes his head vigorously, even though Kent's not looking at him. "What's wrong? Can I help?"

"Fuck. No. Go away." Kent pulls his knees a little closer to his chest, as though he could close himself up into a ball and disappear. Alexei watches with horror and the empathetic urge to do the same. He shouldn't be here, he's not supposed to see this, but Kent Parson is _hurting_ , and this isn't the kind of hurt you get from getting knocked down on skates. Ice and weight make the body ache, but this is a worse kind of hurt. The kind that drags you down into a hole and leaves you there to rot. Alexei knows, because looking at Kent now, he's feeling it too.

"I'm not going away," he protests. "You're not feeling good, I'm not leaving you alone."

"I'm not sick, you fucker, I'm just--" Kent gives a little noise of frustration. His breathing comes shallow, and he has to gulp in a few lungfuls of air before he can continue. "I just _get_ like this sometimes."

"Like what?" Alexei doesn't mean to ask, but the words just come out. "What you doing?"

"Fuck, I can't fucking deal with this right now--" Kent takes a few more hurried little breaths. "Look, if you're not gonna go can you just sit there and shut up?"

"I can--sure." Alexei settles back into a sitting position. "Sure, I be quiet."

"Good." And Kent falls silent too. For a while, the only noises in the small room are his soft gulping breaths and Alexei's own slower breaths and the hum of the air conditioner. Alexei watches as Kent continues to tremble and clutch at his own arms. He's rocking back and forth, like he could soothe himself as a mother soothes a crying child, but after several minutes he just chokes out a soft "fuck" and gives a sound that's half-cough, half-sob.

Alexei can't say quiet any longer. "Should I get ... doctor?" he offers, as quietly and non-threateningly as he can.

"No. No. Fuck. Just..." Kent peeks up from his hiding place behind his arms.  "Can you just stay?"

"Stay?" Alexei echoes dumbly.

"Yeah. Just ... just for a minute. It's almost over." Kent meets Alexei's gaze for the first time, and Alexei loses his breath a little. There's so much in those eyes. Emotion. Weakness. Pleading. There's not a good word for it, except for those are eyes that _need_ , and Alexei could never say no to being needed like that.

"Of course I stay," he says. "I stay as long as you need."

Kent swallows. "Thanks." He holds Alexei's gaze another second, then drops his head again. But he's uncurled a little now, his grip a little looser, and the tension is starting to drain out of his limbs. Alexei stays, silent, witnessing, as Kent's breathing slows and evens.

At last, Kent lifts his head, tilting it backward against the wall, and sighs. He straightens his legs and stretches his arms above his head. "Sorry about that," he says. "Sorry, man."

"No -- no problem," Alexei stutters. All of a sudden Kent Parson is himself again, looking human if not happy, and Alexei's having a hard time believing it's the same person who was just curled up and trembling. "You good?"

"I don't know about _good_ ," Kent says with another sigh, "but I'll be okay." He looks Alexei up and down warily. "You tell anybody about this, I'll kick your ass."

"Who am I telling?" Alexei raises his hands, palms up, as though Kent had accused him of concealing a weapon.

"I don't know, man. I thought you--" Kent stops, shaking his head. "Anyway. It's fucking frustrating. I know they pass, but while they're happening ... I just ... I feel so goddamn helpless."

"What was it?"

Kent cocks his head. "C'mon, you didn't think Zimms had the market cornered on panic attacks, did you?"

Alexei muddles over that sentence for a minute. He gets the panic part, but the rest is escaping him. It probably isn't worth understanding. "You're not helpless, Kent Parson," he says, in an effort to say something supportive. "You're very ... very powerful."

"Powerful?" Kent echoes. There's a question in his eyes now, not the pleading of before, but something he's trying to puzzle out. Alexei wonders what it could be.

A minute later, he relaxes and shrugs. "Powerful, huh? Yeah. Yeah, maybe I am." He rises to his feet, then stretches out a hand to help Alexei up. His palm is clammy, but his grip is strong. He holds Alexei's hand in his for a moment after they've both risen, a halfway handshake. "Thanks, man."

It is, Alexei realizes, the nicest thing he's ever heard Kent Parson say.

* * *

He's certainly powerful during the game. Powerful and obnoxious, and the desire to throw him across the ice returns like gangbusters. Kent is hard to pin down, moves with terrifying dexterity, and is fearless on the ice -- he lays a hit on Marty once that most guys would avoid, and terrifies Poots into driving the puck the wrong way. When Kent pursues, and slams Poots into the glass at his own end for no good reason at all, Alexei loses it. He charges in, shoving Kent back, and in another second is backed up by the rest of his line. Sticks clatter along the bench as the team eggs him on.

"Come on!" Alexei shouts. "Come on, you're wanting to hit? You hit me!"

"Please," Kent taunts back, "you can't fucking handle me." He gestures at himself.

"I think _you_ can't handle you," Alexei retorts.

For just a second, Kent's expression goes blank. Alexei realizes too late that it's a cheap shot. But by then, the gloves are on the ice.

They're given twin majors for fighting, and as Kent settles down with a grumble in the neighboring penalty box, he shoots a glare at Alexei. "Don't you say a fucking thing, Mashkov."

"One thing," Alexei says. "Only _sorry_."

"Sorry? What are you, Canadian now?" Kent gives a derisive laugh.  But when his eyes connect with Alexei's, there's that instant of vulnerability again. Alexei's heart twinges. A million unfinished thoughts fly through his mind. If he could only ... he never meant to ... does Parson know ...

At the end of the period, he skates over to the Aces bench. Kent pauses in mid-swig of Gatorade, swallows hard, and leans over the board, head dropping for a moment of confidential conversation.

"Look, don't worry about it, man," Kent says. "It's the game."

"Was too much." Alexei is insistent. "Too low."

"We're cool," Kent tells him. "You and me, we're even now."

"Sorry."

"Don't sorry. That makes it weird. Just ... go take your gear off, you stink." Kent sniffs. His lip curls, but there's humor in his sneer, and Alexei feels as though he's been forgiven. He nods and skates away.

* * *

They win, but afterward, Alexei itches. It doesn't seem right, to have seen what he saw today and then just hop back on the bus to the hotel with the rest of the guys. Kent said they were even, but something's still unresolved. Maybe it's that Alexei doesn't want to be even. Now that he's seen this piece of Kent Parson, he's curious to see more. He feels a little bit like he's back in that endless purgatory of white hallways. He wants to peek behind the door and find something else.

He finds the parking garage instead. Kent is signing autographs for a few kids who've lingered there in the hopes of running into players. Alexei stops just outside the elevator bank and leans against the glass, watching him.

Eventually Kent notices. "Mashkov," he says with some surprise.

Alexei lifts a hand in a wave. "I'm check on you. How are you? Good?"

Kent looks in panic at the assembled fans, then walks back toward the doors. A breath away, he mutters, "I thought you were gonna keep this quiet."

"What? I said _how are you_ only." Still, Alexei can see what he did wrong. God damn it. Now that he actually gives a damn about Parson’s welfare, he's making all the wrong moves. Stupid, clumsy man. "Sorry, Kent Parson."

Kent sighs. "What are you doing here? Didn't you guys have a bus to your hotel or some shit?"

"Yes, but is okay, I get a car later." Alexei finds his footing. "I'm think maybe you're not alone tonight."

"What?" Kent's forehead goes all wrinkly and uneven in confusion, one eyebrow higher than the other. It's amusing. Alexei wants to smooth out the lines with his finger.

He recalculates. "Sorry, sorry. I'm not right words. I mean, it's good if you are not alone tonight."

Kent takes a breath as if to reply. He frowns harder. Then he lifts a finger. "Just a sec."

Alexei watches as he returns to the fans, signs some more autographs, then announces with a smile that he's got to talk to his friend over here for a while, but thanks for coming to the game, you're all the best. The small crowd thins out, then dissipates. As Kent turns back, the smile vanishes and his eyes focus. Like he's put on a mask. Or, Alexei thinks, taken one off.

"Look," Kent says, keeping his voice down although they're no longer in a sea of fans, "I get that you're concerned or whatever. But I'm fine."

"That happen all the time?" Alexei asks. "Panic attack. Every day? Or just sometimes?"

"Not..." Kent glances down at his feet. "Not a lot, no."

"So it was surprise?"

Kent half-laughs. "They're always a surprise."

"Scary?"

"That's kind of what panic means, yeah."

"If it's me," Alexei says, "I get scared, I don't want to be alone after." He catches Kent's gaze, tries to make it clear through his expression that he means it.

Kent stares back, and he has that puzzled look again. "I thought you hated my guts," he says.

"I don't _know_ your guts," Alexei returns.

That makes Kent laugh, a breathy chuckle in his soft tenor. Alexei's heart does an odd swell-and-skip in his chest, like it's a balloon stuck bobbing in the rafters, in vain search of an open sky. A small, secret question sticks in the back of his head, and he fights it back down. No room or time for that.

"Okay," Kent says abruptly.

Alexei's lost in his own thoughts. "What?"

"Okay," Kent repeats. "Come on back to my place. We'll watch a movie." He shrugs. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't want to be alone."

He turns and saunters toward the fanciest car left in the garage. Alexei watches the length of his stride for a fascinated second, then follows.

* * *

They're in the car, silent, for a few minutes before Kent looks over at him and says, "So what's your deal?"

"My ... deal?"

"Yeah." Kent taps the steering wheel to the beat of the music blaring through the speakers. "Is this just your thing? Do you go wander around on roadies until you find some guy in a back room and adopt him?"

Alexei frowns. "Not adopting, I don't think. I got lost. Was just lucky to find you."

"Yeah, lucky for who?" Kent returns derisively. Alexei raises an eyebrow at him, and Kent huffs out a sigh. "Look for what it's worth, man ... I'm grateful." He pauses. "I needed someone to be there ... to ride it out with me ... and you were. So. Really. Thanks."

"Teammates don't know?" The more Alexei considers this possibility, the more it alarms him. "Nobody there to help you?"

"Well. First of all, it doesn't happen that much." Kent breathes evenly, carefully, as the long miles of highway stretch out in front of them. "And after seeing what happened to Zimms ... it didn't seem like that good of an idea to talk about it much."

"Zimms." It finally clicks in Alexei's mind. "You mean Zimmboni."

"Yeah, is that what you're calling him now?" Kent drums on the steering wheel some more. "How's he doing?"

"Zimmboni? He's good. He's happy."

"Happy, huh?" Kent's hands tighten on the wheel, then relax. "Well, good on him. Glad he's finally made it to the big show, ya know?"

"Mm." Alexei's happy to discuss Jack, but he's really bursting with curiosity about Kent. About what he goes through. Why. How he deals with it. What would have happened, if Alexei hadn't been there. He searches for a place to start. "You were friends?"

Kent shrugs. "Something like that. Played in the Q together. Zimms shoulda gotten drafted before me, but, well. You know what happened." He tilts his head, frowning. "You do know what happened, right?"

"Maybe?" Alexei actually isn't sure. And he's still not that interested. "I read online."

"Don't believe a word of it," Kent tells him sternly. "Zimms wasn't a druggie, okay? He was on meds, they weren't well managed, he had a low period. He never did coke or any of that shit." He's wound himself up again, arm muscles tight, head craned forward as though he were a sharpshooter eyeing a target. "He's a good guy."

"I know," Alexei says. "What about Kent Parson? Is he good guy too?"

Kent laughs. "No, he's trash."

The answer doesn't sit right with Alexei. Real trash, he thinks, doesn't go around admitting it. "That's what I'm thinking too," he says, "but now not so sure."

"Why? Because you saw me freaking out?" Kent laughs, and there's a cruel tone to it, a harshness that seems more directed at himself than at Alexei. "Dude, mental illness is indiscriminate. Assholes get panic attacks too."

"You're not asshole," Alexei says. "You're invite me over, we watch movie."

"Your standards are really, really low," Kent replies easily.

Alexei scowls. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop talking about yourself like _trash_ , like _asshole_. You're great. You've got to believe you're great. Hockey is confidence game. You believe, you're great."

"I believe I'm great at hockey," Kent says. "It's everywhere else..."

"Life is same thing."

"Really, Mashkov?" Kent aggressively shifts lanes, and they veer toward the nearest exit. "You think that's how life works?"

"It is how--" Alexei shuts up fast. If today's taught him anything, it's that he might not have it all figured out about everything. "Not works for you?"

"Not exactly." Kent slows to a stop at a red light. Little crimson pinpricks reflect in his eyes. Alexei falls silent. Kent takes a right at the light, and the car speeds off through the suburbs.

* * *

"You wanna go back, just shout and I'll call you an Uber," Kent says as he walks through the ridiculously grand foyer of his home. Alexei isn't exactly a cheapskate when it comes to his own living arrangements, but this is still impressive. He glances from staircase to vaulted ceiling to two-story window as Kent steps through into the kitchen. "Figure you got a plane out in the morning. You want a beer?"

Alexei follows him, looks around at the granite countertops and gleaming surfaces with appreciation. "Nice place."

"It'd be a shithole if the cleaners hadn't come today," Kent says. "Beer or no beer?"

Alexei ignores the question. He finds a stool pushed up against the kitchen island and sits, legs bending on either side. "What's _your_ deal?" he asks.

"What?"

"You asked me in the car. My turn. What's your deal, Kent Parson?"

Kent regards him for a moment. His lips twist. "Hm. No beer, then. Change your mind, help yourself." He turns to the refrigerator and fishes out a bottle, then opens it with a gadget on his keychain. "What movie do you want to watch? I have like a shitload of DVDs. No Russian movies, though."

"You're not answering." Alexei frowns.

"Because it's a stupid question. What's my deal? What does that even mean?"

"Means..." This takes a minute for Alexei to work out. He knows what he _wants_ to ask, of course. _What happened? What makes you cry? What do you fear? What do you hope? Who are you?_ But he can't ask any of that, so he fumbles around for the cheapest and easiest words he can buy. "Why you so nasty on ice, so nice off it? Like two Kent Parsons."

Kent swigs his beer hard. "Okay, now, first of all, it's a nasty fucking game, in case you missed it.  I don't think it's played with teacups in hand in Russia, either."

"Russia is different," and oh, Alexei could go into detail about that, about what it's like here versus there, what's encouraged, what's demanded and what's frowned on, but now's not the time.

"Second," Kent goes on, wagging a finger at Alexei, "I don't know why you think that I'm nice."

_Because nobody who cries alone is cruel_ , Alexei thinks. "I know," he says, "I can tell you're nice person. I'm knowing your secret, Kent Parson."

For an instant, Kent blanches.

"Don't worry," Alexei says, lifting his hands, "I'm not tell anybody you're nice. It's secret."

Kent stutters. "D- dude. I thought ..." A small, crooked smile appears on his lips.  "Never mind. Let's watch a damn movie."

* * *

They put on one of those car movies, Furious and Fast and Something Else. Alexei doesn't pay much attention to the title. He doesn't pay much attention to the movie, either, as much as it would usually be right up his alley. But he's distracted tonight, and the distraction is sitting right next to him, petting a wild-maned cat that padded into the room during the opening credits, yawning occasionally. He really should be in bed, Alexei thinks, then chides himself. Just because he helped Kent Parson through a bad time doesn't mean he gets to tell him what to do. But looking at him in the dimness, the action on the screen painting his profile red and yellow and green in turn, Alexei's urge to mother him is pretty strong.

Well. Not exactly mother him.

But take care of him, protect him, know him better. Learn the ins and outs of Kent Parson, this rough-edged, belligerent, self-deprecating man who nonetheless can snuggle with a ferocious-looking cat as though it's his best friend in the universe, who can huddle in the corner of a room shaking like he's just lost everything, who can cry and then laugh, who by just sitting in a living room can break Alexei's heart a little.

(That secret, small question from elsewhere tugs at the back of his mind. If only ... but no. Most likely not.)

At one point, he thinks Kent's fallen asleep. Alexei reaches over and nudges him. Kent starts, body jerking forward like he's been shoved. "Bwuh?"

"You're sleepy. Going to bed soon?"

"What, shut up, no, I'm not." Kent fixes him with a glare, but he's pouting. Alexei wouldn't be surprised if there's a flush on his cheeks, but it's too dim in here to see.

"You are. You were sleeping."

"I was resting my eyes, for fuck's sake, Mashkov. It's, what, like 1? Early."

"Very early," Alexei teases. "You're old man, falling asleep."

"I told you I wasn't--"

"Grumpy old man," Alexei corrects himself. He learned that word from Snowy, who had to explain it to him after Alexei found the title in Snowy's impressive movie collection. (Snowy was half-embarrassed at owning the movie to begin with.)

Kent glowers. He looks more like a grumpy old man now than before. "Look, if you came over here just to fuckin' chirp me, man..."

"No, no no no! I didn't, I didn't. Promise."

"Good." Kent settles back on the couch, shoulders heavy against the cushions. "Because lemme tell you, man, if I'm a grumpy old man, you're like fuckin' Big Bird here." He shoves sideways on the couch, arms and hips bumping Alexei. "You take up like half the couch."

Alexei feels color rising in his own cheeks at the sudden contact. He looks away. "Can't help I'm tall."

"And I can't help I'm grumpy," Kent rejoins, but he doesn't sound terribly grumpy as he says it.

He also doesn't retreat to his half of the couch.

* * *

"You can stay over if you want," Kent says abruptly during one of the quieter parts of the movie.

Alexei has been concentrating very hard, trying to understand the dialogue. Vin Diesel speaks in a very low voice, and what's worse, he mumbles. Alexei's so tuned in that he almost misses Kent's words. "What you say?"

Kent shrugs. "It's late. If you wanna just head back in the morning, that's cool. I'll drive you in."

"Morning?" Alexei's brain begins to catch up with the conversation. "Oh. Stay here?"

"Yeah, dude. I have a guest room. Unless you wanna sleep on the couch." Kent flashes him a grin.

His smile is so sudden, and so unexpected, that Alexei feels like he's been sucker punched. He reels internally, knowing that his jaw is slack and he must look like a dummy. But damn. That smile.  Just ... damn.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I text roommate.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to find six missed texts from Snowy, each one a variant on “Where are you?” Alexei sighs and thumbs in a quick message: _I’ll be back in morning. Not late for plane. Don’t worry._

The reply comes after a few seconds. _You’re missing a great party._

And come to think of it, they would be partying, wouldn’t they? With a win under their belts and a day off tomorrow. Hell, normally, Alexei would be right in the middle of it all. He’d be the center of attention, four shots of whiskey already down, singing badly to whatever song’s playing when he’s not laughing and bragging with his teammates. His brothers. He’d be home.

Alexei should be sad to miss all that. But right now, he just isn’t. Right now, he can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than right here, in a darkened room, with a guy he barely knows and a cat that keeps eyeing him suspiciously. It’s as though all his wandering through unfamiliar hallways has led him here, to this place of unexpected warmth and comfort. He doesn’t want to leave.

He texts back: _haha have fun))) see you in morning._ And he puts his phone away.

The cat meows reproachfully as he shifts on the couch. Alexei gives her a dirty look.

Kent laughs. “Behave, Kit.” He runs his hand down the cat's back, looks down at her, then tilts his head toward Alexei. "You want to pet her?"

"I don't know," Alexei says carefully. "She looks ... dangerous."

"Sure, she might give you a scratch," Kent says, "but that's how cats show their love. Right, Kit?" He scritches the cat between the ears; she makes a sound like a leaky radiator. "Look, she's in a good mood too. I'd say, like, a thirty percent chance of scratching, tops."

"If you're sure," Alexei says, and reaches over. His hand hovers gingerly over the cat's back. He lowers it slowly.

The cat hisses, and so does Kent; she's arched her back, bared her claws, and scratched his arm. Kent bites his lip, but a muttered "Fuck!" still comes through.

Alexei pulls his hand away quickly. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry!"

Kent regains his composure; Kit settles down within his grasp. "No, it's cool, it's cool. Happens all the time." He eyes Alexei warily. "Have you never petted a damn cat before?"

"Not ... often," Alexei says, a little ashamed at the admission.

"Well, you can't sort of hover over her like that, she'll see it as a threat. Look, it's like you said about hockey, right? It's a confidence game. You have to go in sure of yourself."

He reaches out and grabs Alexei's hand lightly. Fingers on his fingers, palm on the back of his hand.

Alexei suddenly finds it very hard to breathe.

Quickly, without hesitation, Kent brings Alexei's hand down onto the cat's back. She startles a bit at the touch, but doesn't tense up. "See?" Kent says, guiding Alexei's hand along Kit's back, lifting it, taking him down into another gliding stroke. "You come in confident, she feels it and accepts you. She's got a nice coat, huh? Really good to pet."

Alexei's sure Kit has a very nice coat, but he's having trouble feeling it. All he's registering is Kent's hand over his, the gentle sure movements he's making, the grip of his thumb around Alexei's index finger. He glances up from the cat to Kent's face.

Their eyes meet. Alexei realizes, with a start, that Kent was the one who looked first. He'd thought Kent had been keeping his eyes on the cat. But Kent's been looking at _him_. This whole time, he's been looking at him.

"Um," Kent says. There's an instant of hesitation. Something not ready to be said, a loose spark that blows away with the wind instead of catching fire.

Alexei just stares back. God knows he doesn't have any words, either.

Kent drops his hand away from Alexei's. "Now you try on your own."

Alexei blinks. Kent gestures, a petting motion.

"Oh. No." Alexei pulls his hand back. "No, that's enough, thank you."

Kent snorts. "Yeah, okay, tough guy."

"Shut up," Alexei retorts dumbly. Whatever heaviness had been hanging in the air has lightened again. He returns his attention to the movie.

* * *

They're almost at the end of the film. Vin Diesel has just done the most improbable thing with a car that Alexei has ever seen. He bursts out laughing.

Kent, who's been dozing, jumps at the sound. Kit leaps from his arms and skitters off into another room. Kent turns on Alexei with a scowl. "What the fuck are you laughing for?"

Alexei waves vaguely at the screen. "That so stupid."

"Stupid? No, man, that was fucking awesome." Kent looks mortally offended.

"Oh, yeah," Alexei manages through chuckles, "so awesome. You try it next time."

"What the-- I could! I could do that." Kent puffs up his chest, trying to look as big as he can in the dim light. It just makes Alexei laugh more. "Shut it, Mashkov, it's not like _you_ could."

Alexei makes a face at him. "Sure I can. In Russia we do all the time. Every day."

"Oh, really?" Kent jostles Alexei playfully, knee against knee. They've been sitting close this whole time, but tuned into the movie, Alexei had almost forgotten about it. "That happens in Russia every day? Sounds fucking dangerous, man, remind me never to go."

"No, no," Alexei tells him. "You come to Russia with me, I'm protect you."  It's as close to saying how he's been feeling as Alexei's dared to get; he panics. "From crazy Russian drivers," he adds hurriedly.

"Yeah, you better." Kent yawns. "And the fucking Russian Mafia, too." He's drooping a bit now, leaning in Alexei's direction.

Alexei lifts a hand and pats Kent's head, mussing his hair. It feels good against his fingers. "Okay. I'm your bodyguard, okay?"

"Yeah," Kent says sleepily, "okay."

Alexei stretches his arm along the back of the sofa. And after a second of hesitation, Kent tucks himself in against Alexei's body, letting his weight settle against chest and shoulder and hip.

Alexei bites his lip and tries to fight down the current of warmth that courses through him. This can't happen. He can't let this happen. But there was never a moment when he could have stopped it. Alexei has this habit of falling into people, letting curiosity and empathy eat him up inside, and the minute he saw Kent in the corner of that room, he'd been lost. He had to know everything there was to know. Add to that the physical attraction he's feeling (and damn it, Alexei can't fight the knowledge of it now, it's been singing in the back of his brain for too long) and he's a hopeless case. There was never a way out, and there's no turning back.

"I said before," he mumbles, daring to dip his head against the top of Kent's, "You're very powerful, Kent Parson."

Kent laughs, a laugh with a little snort at the end that makes Alexei's heart twinge. "Yeah, that's me. A force of fucking nature. Panic attack's got no chance."

That's not the kind of powerful Alexei meant, but he'll go with it.

* * *

The movie has long since ended. Alexei's found the remote and muted the TV, but the the DVD title screen plays over and over silently, flooding the room with weak light. And Kent is snoozing fitfully, head bobbing against Alexei's shoulder.

Alexei's doing his best to simply breathe, to be the haven he imagines Kent needs after this day. Doing his best, but his fingers itch to touch, his lips yearn to form around a million questions. But every time he comes close, Kent shifts against him, or gives a little half-snore--keeping him still and waiting.

Kent stirs against him. Shifts. His brow furrows. "... didn't ... I didn't," he murmurs.  Alexei looks down at him, watching as his lips purse, cataloguing the minute movements in his face. Even at the late hour, in the dim light, they're fascinating. What does Kent Parson dream about? What didn't he do?

Kent twitches. His shoulders give a jerk, as though he's been shaken. "Said I didn't," he says, in a louder, clearer voice. Alexei stays very still. He knows he shouldn't wake Kent, but he aches with the weight of the hundred questions he never asked tonight, and now he has more. He's unbearably awake, intensely aware of Kent's body and the invisible motion of his mind.

"... said I didn't," Kent says one more time. Then his body is wrenching, and he's crying out. "Stop .... fuck ... don't!"

He comes awake with a shudder, gasping in air, bolting upright on the couch. Cradling his head in his hands, he curls forward, elbows on his knees. "Fuck," he mutters.

Before he can think better of it, Alexei lays a flat hand on his back. Kent starts, breath hitching. Alexei rubs wide circles. "It's okay," he says, soft as he can in the quiet. "It's just dream."

Kent lifts his head, turns. "Mashkov," he says, as though just remembering.

Alexei isn't sure what to say. He goes with "Hello," and a soft wave of his free hand.

This gets a half-smile and a gentle exhale from Kent, as some of the tension drains out of his body. "Hi," he says. "Sorry."

His expression is strangely soft and kind. Alexei's heart clenches. "Is okay," he repeats. And, because it's late, and he can't help himself: "What you're dreaming about?"

"Oh, the usual stuff," Kent says, sitting up straight and rolling his shoulders back. "Someone's chasing me, I can't run away. You know, standard nightmare fuel."

Alexei watches him. The words are on the tip of his tongue now, and with the lateness of the night and the silence of the big room, he doesn't think he can keep them from filling the vacuum. He sits forward, drawing his hands forward into his lap, and takes a short breath. "Kent Parson," he says slowly, "what you so afraid of?"

Kent stills. Alexei can see the battle in his mind; it reveals itself through twitches of brow and lip, like smoke from distant explosions. But after a few moments, Kent sighs and leans back onto the couch. Alexei turns to see his face.

"It's just ... a lot," Kent says finally. "It's a lot of bad stuff I don't like to think about, and most of the time I can shut it out. But sometimes it just ... it catches up with me, and it's so bad I can't breathe."

"Bad stuff," Alexei prompts. _Careful, careful, be gentle,_ his mind sings. _Don't scare him into silence._

"Yeah. Stupid stuff I did when I was young. Bad memories. Regrets." Kent pauses. "Secrets."

Yes, there it is, the key that Alexei had been looking for. He's oh so careful, oh so tentative, as he asks, "Secrets?"

Kent meets his eyes. It's a kind of test, that gaze. Alexei holds his own gaze as steady as he can.

The words tumble out in a soft rush. "I'm scared of getting outed."

A beat of silence in the room.

Then, Alexei reaches for the remote and turns the TV off. Gives Kent the benefit of darkness, should he need it.

A streetlight outside casts a bit of light into the room, enough for Alexei to see the tension come out of Kent's expression. "I mean, it's stupid," Kent says, his voice low and clear. "I haven't even hooked up with anyone in forever. But ... it's a lot. Knowing that if anyone figured out ... or found out, even about me and Zimms, though that's ... that's over ..." His breath hitches. "This whole thing could go to hell. Everything I have. I don't think I could deal with it."

The words and sentences and ideas cartwheel through Alexei's mind, slowly taking shape as they do. Of course. Of course this would be the reason. Of course this would be his secret. And what a burden it must be, to carry around day after day, knowing that he has to act, to _be_ a certain way to keep suspicions at bay. Some days it feels like any slip, any moment of vulnerability, would reveal everything to the world. Alexei knows it well. He's lived it.

"Say something," Kent says, a mirthless laugh chasing his words. "Come on." He waits. Alexei is still searching for an answer.

Kent swallows. He glances at Alexei, but doesn't hold his gaze. "Shit," he murmurs, after another minute. "Look, you can't fucking tell anyone, okay? No one. You listening to me? God damn it--" He chokes on the words, makes a strangled noise in his throat.

The sound spurs words onto Alexei's lips. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

"I mean it." Kent spits the syllables into the air. "I mean it. You can't tell..."

"Who do I tell?" Alexei's own voice rises. "Kent Parson, who am I telling? _I have same secret_."

Kent's eyes widen. He sucks in a breath. Very, very gradually, he dares to look at Alexei again. This time, he's the one searching Alexei's face. The heat of his gaze is punishing, and Alexei flinches.

Maybe it's the flinch that convinces Kent, because he raises a hand, points a finger, frowns. " _You?_ "

It's easier than Alexei thinks it will be; the words just come out. "Zimmboni very brave, telling team. I'm not so brave."

"You're _gay_?" Kent asks, point-blank.

Alexei nods.

Kent shakes his head, and a laugh tumbles loose. "Hunh. That explains a lot."

"What?"

Kent's eyebrows shoot up, and he tosses Alexei a crocodile grin. "Well, fuck it, in that case, you wanna come to bed?"

Alexei fixes him with a reproachful look. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Kent's all exaggerated expressions now. He spreads his arms wide, shrugs comically.

"Don't pretend." Because that's all this is, Kent covering his vulnerability with another facet of the mask he wears all day. It's as plain to Alexei as if it were his own mask. His heart throbs with sympathy. "You don't have to do that. I'm not telling anybody. You're here in your house. You're _safe_ , Kent Parson."

The smile falls off Kent's face. "No, I'm not," he says. "I'm never safe."

"You are. I promise, you are." And, with a sigh, Alexei reaches forward and pulls Kent into his arms.

Kent is still, his body rigid. But he doesn't struggle, doesn't push Alexei away. Which is all Alexei needs, really. At a time like this, when Alexei hurts so much for another person, he has to give something, offer something. Whether or not it's accepted. It's selfish, maybe, but Alexei doesn't know how to do anything else. And maybe, maybe even if Kent doesn't believe in him right now, he'll look back on this moment someday and remember that he wasn't alone.

So when Kent's palms touch his back, Alexei nearly loses his breath.

Another instant and Kent's taken fistfuls of his shirt and is hanging on, burrowing his face into Alexei's chest. He's trembling again, but it's not like it was before the game. Kent's even, slow breathing tells him that. So does the soft "Thanks" that Kent huffs into his shoulder.

"It's late," Alexei murmurs into his hair. "You should go to bed."

"Yeah," Kent says. "Yeah, I should."

But he stays in Alexei's arms for another few minutes, just holding on, before finally pulling away and heading upstairs.

* * *

Alexei wakes in the morning to the smell of coffee and the chirping of a particularly obnoxious bird. Its call, a three-note sequence that repeats incessantly, settles into his skull to the point where he ends up hearing it even after the bird finally falls silent. Alexei pulls a pillow over his head and groans. The guest bed was too soft. He aches.

His brain churns its way to life. He pulls himself upright and stumbles to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Coffee. Is Kent awake already? Did he sleep at all? By the time Alexei followed him upstairs and was directed to the guest bedroom, he was succumbing to his own exhaustion. Maybe he should have stayed awake. Taken care of Kent somehow. A pang of guilt assaults Alexei. He should have done more. Been more.

"Mashkov." The voice comes from the guest room doorway. "You awake?"

Alexei comes out of the bathroom. There's Kent, elbow leaning on the doorframe, stance as easy and confident as Alexei's ever seen him. A loose tank top sits on his shoulders. He looks ... okay. He looks like himself. Relief floods Alexei's heart. Thank goodness. "Hi," he says with a big smile.

"Hi." Kent smiles back. And like it did last night, Kent's smile nearly knocks Alexei off his feet. Without the heaviness of emotion and empathy, without the worry for Kent's welfare, there's a vacuum left in Alexei's senses. Attraction rushes in to fill it, making Alexei's whole body tingle. God damn, but Kent Parson is gorgeous. Gorgeous and touchable in all the right places, and Alexei ponders, for just a second, pulling him in and back onto the guest bed. Kissing the smile right off his face.

Kent holds his gaze for a second, and then his own gaze dips. Alexei abruptly remembers stripping down to his boxers before collapsing on to the bed last night. He's wearing next to nothing. And Kent's _noticing_. He's probably also noticing the way Alexei's body is reacting. The boxers don't hide much.

"Um," Kent says. His gaze keeps sweeping over Alexei's body. "If you, uh... if you wanna shower. I don't know when your flight is."

"Shower. Right." Alexei's on fire down to his fingertips. He tries to calm himself down with common sense. They have less than two hours together. What's more, he didn't know a thing about Kent Parson until last night. But that's the problem with falling into people the way Alexei does: once you know, you _know_.

Alexei closes his eyes briefly as a swell of heat goes through his gut. "Kent Parson," he starts, and takes a step forward.

"I'll be downstairs," Kent says hurriedly. "Get dressed, we'll have some coffee."  He turns quickly, but not before Alexei sees the flush on his chest erupt through his face and down his neck.  

"Kent," Alexei starts again. But Kent's already across the hall and down the stairs.

Alexei stands there for a while. Pondering. Processing. Understanding.

Then he turns, whistles out that god-awful three-note melody, and heads happily for the shower.

* * *

Kent is standing by the counter when Alexei comes down. He's got a mug of coffee on a coaster next to him, but he's not drinking from it. Instead, he's staring aimlessly out the window, a half-smile on his face, lost in thought.

At Alexei's entrance, though, he perks up. "Hey," he says. "I poured you a cup, but I dunno if it's gotten cold, so let me make you anoth--"

But by that point, Alexei has already crossed the kitchen and taken Kent by the waist in two sure hands.

Kent's eyes are big, pupils wide this close up. He takes in a short breath through his mouth. "M-- Mashkov," he stutters.

"Yeah." Alexei drops one hand to Kent's hip. Pulls him away from the counter. Kent's thighs bump his.

"You--you fuckin' hated me 24 hours ago," Kent says. There's breath in his voice, as though he's just been running. His chest rises and falls.

"I did," Alexei agrees. He tilts his head forward.

"This--this can't _be_ anything," Kent says. "We live across the fucking country. And our schedules. The time difference."

But his hand lands on Alexei's arm, just above the elbow.

"I know," Alexei says. He can barely breathe, either. Two pairs of shallow breaths in the cavernous kitchen, rising and falling in a quick rhythm. No other sound. The birds are silent outside.

Kent's other hand finds Alexei's back. "Just ... just as long as we're on the same page."

His lips taste like coffee, and they feel like velvet against Alexei's mouth. Kent sighs, and Alexei gathers him closer, feeling at last chest against chest, body against body. It feels like a gift, like a prize he's been reaching for and finally grasped. Kent's hands on his back and arm are warm, and when Alexei licks at the seam of his mouth, Kent opens to him, sweet mouth and wet tongue. Alexei lifts one hand to Kent's face, cradles the curve of his jaw. Kent gives a little noise that might be a sigh, might be a moan. They kiss until Alexei is dizzy with it, until he has to pull away or lose his balance entirely.

"Upstairs?" Kent says.

Alexei shakes his head. "No time. I have to go."

Kent shoves him. "Fuck you, then." But then he grins, reaches out, and pulls Alexei back in.

* * *

Kent stops the car two blocks from the hotel. The team bus is parked in front, and Alexei can see his teammates and the road crew dragging bags of equipment between the front door and the luggage compartment. He turns to Kent. "See? Leaving now. No time."

"Yeah, I figured that out when your phone started blowing up," Kent says flatly. "Your loss, Mashkov."

"You stop call me that. Friends call me Tater."

"Tater." Kent chews on the word. "Yeah, okay, your loss, _Tater_."

"It is." Alexei grins. "You take care, Kent Parson. Sometimes you text me, tell me you're okay."

Kent nods. "I will. Thanks, dude."

His hand twitches on the gearshift, then lifts, dropping onto Alexei's thigh. His eyes meet Alexei's. They don't say another word. Alexei understands everything.

Alexei opens the car door and swings his legs out. "Bye, Kent Parson."

"Later, Tater," Kent says, then makes a face. "Fuck, that sounds stupid."

Alexei laughs loudly. He rises, gives a final wave, then heads toward the hotel. Behind him, he hears the growl of Kent's car as it speeds off.

Zimmboni raises a hand in greeting as Alexei arrives at the group. Snowy scowls at him and chews him out for being late. Poots wants to know where he's been. Marty tells Poots to leave it alone. It's a glorious cacophony, and soon Alexei is in the middle of it all, laughing and chirping right back, until they all pile onto the bus and head for the airport. He’s here, with his brothers, back home.

The flight to Anaheim isn’t long enough for Alexei to catch up on his sleep. He lies awake, thinking of last night and this morning. Of how Kent had felt as he dozed, leaning against Alexei’s chest. Of how he’d spoken, in the late, late night, with words as honest as they had been difficult. Of how Kent had opened to him in the morning, and how, as they kissed, Alexei had felt as though he’d discovered a secret, beautiful, hidden place.

He feels so far from it now. A piece of him is still lost in that maze beneath the arena, left without a tether and searching for some sign of life. His heart aches with the desire to find that haven again. Funny, how he'd wanted to be that for Kent, but now he's the one missing it.

It isn’t until they’re checked into their Anaheim hotel that Alexei remembers to turn his phone back on post-flight. It warms up, searches for a signal, connects.

A moment later, a text comes through.

**Kent Parson**  
_Came home and Kit’s sitting on your bed._

Alexei blinks at the message for a few minutes, stunned. Kent texted him. Already. And he said …

_My bed?_ he types back.

There’s no immediate answer, and Alexei wonders if Kent’s away from his phone, if he won’t answer. If it was the wrong question to ask. It would be the wrong question. Alexei’s so good at saying the wrong thing. He wishes there were a way to unsend texts. To unfeel feelings, even.

Then:

**Kent Parson**  
_Hm. True._

**Kent Parson**  
_Next time you won’t be sleeping there._

Heat rises to Alexei’s face, and he glances around to see if Snowy’s watching. It’s not the innuendo -- though that gets him, too, with a punch of heat to the gut that blooms all the way down to his toes. It’s the ...

He thumbs out a message.

_Next time?_

A beat. Then:

**Kent Parson**  
_Sure._

**Kent Parson**  
_Make it soon._

**Kent Parson**  
_Kit misses you._

Alexei bites hard on his lower lip, but it doesn’t hold back the smile. He knows what Kent means. What he _hasn’t_ said.

He was wrong. That piece of him, the one he thought was lost in the maze … it’s not lost. It’s safe. It’s with Kent. Whatever they had, whatever they built last night, this morning, it’s not over. He has another place he belongs, now. And he can come back anytime.

He texts back.

_I miss her too. See you soon._

  
  



End file.
